


Storyteller

by Fire_Droplet



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Friendship, Gen, Minecraft, Modern times, Oneshot, a bit of angst, all over the place, random OCs because people exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27220984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Droplet/pseuds/Fire_Droplet
Summary: The man was just another face in the crowd, he made sure of that. Unnoticed by and large, he shared his tale with the world, a legend that used to be so pervasive, now faded beyond memory. No one paid him any mind and that was fine by him... until it wasn’t. Maybe he'd been wrong all along.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	Storyteller

**Author's Note:**

> A couple things I'd like to say before you read: Notch is in this story, however, I basically borrowed his username and slapped it onto an OC. The character isn't based off of him at all, I'm not a fan of having real people in fanfics.
> 
> Also... I wrote this over a year ago and it's just been collecting virtual dust until now, was just having some fun and it turned into a story. Nothing too serious, so don't have high expectations XD

He sat down heavily, eyes shut, the wooden chair creaking. The kids around him inched closer, blinking with wide, owl-like eyes that lacked the wisdom they were hoping to gain. Their parents, somewhat bemused, hovered in the background, almost part of the room’s walls themselves. Bookshelves lined said walls, broken only by wood pillars studded with quaint torches which gave off a warm glow perfect for reading in one of the library’s soft chairs. Of course, the story which the man would be telling went far beyond such literature, though the library did contain some knowledge on the subject, provided one knew what to look for. 

“What are you going to tell us?” A light-haired boy asked from the edge of the small crowd. 

The redheaded girl next to him elbowed him and hissed, “Shh! He’s a storyteller, we’re gonna hear a story!” 

The man in the chair tilted his head down at her, fixing her with his slate-gray stare. “Yes, and this one, though true, is also a nearly-forgotten legend. So—” 

“Do people get hurt?” Another, younger boy with a black shock of hair piped up, hazel eyes wide. “‘Cause I think I might get squeamish—” 

“Shut it, Kody, you baby!” A larger, olive-skinned boy growled from across the room. “I bet people  _ die _ !” 

“Don’t fight. It’s all right if he doesn’t want to hear about that.” The man said in a soothing tone, running a large, scarred hand through his thick, dark hair. “Yes, in this story, people get hurt. People die. And before you ask, yes, some of you might find it scary. The truth can be scary, sometimes.” 

“Is it a happy story?” A tanned boy asked hesitantly. 

The man tugged on his cyan shirt, “Not really.” 

“I mean,” the boy backpedaled, biting his lip, “does it at least have a happy ending?” 

“Are you gonna start soon?” A girl with bright blue eyes blurted loudly from beside the redhead before the man could reply. 

“Patience,” he said, and raised a hand. The torches on the walls dimmed, flickered, and extinguished one by one with small puffs of smoke. 

“Whoa!” 

“Hey! I can’t see!” 

“It’s so dark!” 

“Did  _ you _ just do that?” 

“Magic, cool!” 

He hushed the kids and they gradually quieted down, peering around in the dark. It was like a cave, some of the kids waved their hands in front of their faces, mere inches away, yet they might as well have been invisible. 

“Can we turn the lights back on?” 

“Yeah, monsters might spawn!” 

The children talked faster and louder, reaching the cusp of panic before the man and some of their parents stepped in, calming them. 

“No monsters will bother us,” the man assured. 

“Really?” The redhead asked, her voice wavering. “And how can you see?” 

“My eyes are better suited to the dark than yours.” 

“Uh, does that make you a monster? ‘Cause only monsters can see really well at night.” The black-haired boy asked nervously. 

“Who told you that?” His tone was surprisingly accusing. 

“Uh… my dad, I think…” the boy trailed off, shrinking under the man’s acerbic tone. 

He softened, smoothing out his blue shirt. “That’s all right, and it’s a good guess. Even though I am not quite like you, my ability to see better in dark conditions does  _ not  _ make me a monster. Now,” he began, “this is a story about a boy, much like some of you, who lived long ago. Except, he had extraordinary abilities, though no one, not even he knew where they came from.” A wavering, ghostly image of a figure lacking details sprung to life and seemed to gather energy around it. “He could teleport, fly, summon fireballs at his hands, and do much more.” 

“Whoa, that’s so  _ cool _ !” 

“How did he have those powers?” 

“Can I get some?” 

“What was his name?” 

“Quiet,” he said softly yet with a force that rendered the whole room silent, “please, hold your questions until the end.” 

“Can I ask one thing?” The light-haired kid asked, scooting closer. 

The man turned his gaze on him. “One.” 

“Um… what is your name, Storyteller? You, uh, never told us.” 

He leaned back in his chair, sighing and letting his eyes drift closed, though none of the room’s occupants could see that. “I’ve been called many things over the course of my long life.” 

“But you’re not old!” 

“Thank you, but I’m older than I appear. You can call me Brian.” He stared thoughtfully into the distance for a moment before a parent on the fringes of the group cleared his throat impatiently. “Anyway, there was this boy. He had these powers, yes, but that did not make him a hero. In fact, this boy was driven by a rage so deep and overpowering that he could easily have been called evil. And he was. He was driven out of his home by his own family, called a demon, banished from his village.” 

“Wow, that’s sad.” One girl whispered. 

“Bet he got what he deserved,” another boy huffed. 

“They did what they thought was right,” Brian said pensively, the fingers on his right hand stroking the armrest of his chair. “I can’t say I would have done anything different in their shoes.” 

Another illusion crackled to life, showing the same shadowy figure on a hill, watching a village burn down below. “ _ This  _ was the boy’s legacy. This was what he lived for.” 

“Fire?” 

“Hate. Rage. Vengeance, he thought. He saw what life had done to him as a great injustice and sought to bring justice to the world. Everyone was too well-off, he believed. No one had many difficulties, and when they did, they just cast them aside like the trash they were.” His tone grew bitter. “And when  _ people  _ were the source of the difficulties, out they went.” 

“That’s not right!” The redhead burst out. 

“That’s the way it was. This boy, fueled by the fires of his anger and hate, cultivated a bloodlust. With his powers, he believed he was a god. No other player, villager, or mob was like him, or so he believed. This boy,” the illusion faded, only to be replaced by a new one in a cave lit by wavering torchlight. “did not understand how good the world was. He only sought to bring ‘order’ to the world, and the only way he thought he could do that was to create difficulties that none had faced for a long, long time.” 

The children listened with bated breath as the illusory figure in the cave mined obsidian and began placing it in the shape of a nether portal frame. 

“What! Those are forbidden!” The light-haired kid exclaimed, pointing to the purple glow as the figure stepped up to the portal. 

“Not back then. He traveled to the Nether, where he unleashed the Wither itself and, with the use of his powers, killed the beast and collected its Nether Star. I’m sure that you recall from your history schooling that the Nether Star, when specific words are said over it along with a blood offering and infusion of divine power, can be used to control the monsters, yes?” 

“Yeah.” A kid mumbled. A few others looked uncomfortable or disturbed. 

“By gaining control of the Star, he was able to command vast legions of mobs with a mere thought. Every monster in the Nether and Overworld was at his disposal to do whatever he desired.” 

“That’s horrible!” 

“It is,” Brian agreed grimly, his gaze flickering up to the parents standing on the edges of the room, just as rapt as their children. “He left the Nether on the back of a ghast, commanding hordes of pigmen to destroy the nearby towns. After a time, his reputation inflated to the point where many doubted that he was human anymore. Many thought he was a ghost, others said he was the brother of Notch himself. Some even went as far as to peg him as a demon.” 

“Was he?” 

“No. And he always commanded his armies from afar, which is why many began to believe he didn’t exist at all. His infamy grew, but faded into mere legend and folklore, his story becoming something used by parents to warn their misbehaving kids that ‘Herobrine will come and get you if you don’t do what I say.’” 

“That’s his name?” The blue-eyed girl affirmed, “Herobrine?” 

Brian fixed her with his steely gaze, the illusions dissipating. “Most didn’t refer to him by name, as it was one of the quickest ways to grab his attention. But yes.” 

“What happened next?” The black-haired boy inquired quietly. 

“His rage dulled over the years, cooling into a far more dangerous ice and he waited in the shadows, planning. He believed he was not only superior to humankind, but had convinced himself that he was a god, you see, and saw fit to challenge Notch himself for that official title.” 

A couple kids gasped. 

“I know how it sounds. But it did happen, and he sought out Notch like few ever had.” A new wispy illusion flew out of the man’s outstretched palm, taking shape in the form of the familiar figure standing at a shrine of some sort, a beacon before him shooting up into the sky. “The Creator eventually acknowledged his challenge, and even accepted. Of course, he knew of Herobrine’s powers, which were laughable when compared to his own.” Brian grimaced slightly. 

An opaque, life-size illusion of Notch and the shadowy form that was Herobrine flickered to life, circling around each other in the middle of the room, each wielding enchanted swords. “Notch had kept the world at peace for all of its history, until Herobrine thrust it back into darkness. He knew he needed to end this threat. Though he could fight quite well, he wasn’t the type for it: he never enjoyed it. Strange, isn’t it?” Brian said as the insubstantial figures whirled around each other almost faster than the eye could follow, blades clashing, shooting sparks and bolts of electricity. “He knew that Herobrine had never been given a second chance. And that was part of his duty as the Creator: giving second chances.” Notch’s sword tore into Herobrine’s upper arm, and the latter dropped his sword in pain and surprise. In a single motion, the Creator slid it out and thrust the blade clean through Herobrine’s abdomen. The tip could be seen poking out of the man’s back, dark streaks adorning it. 

“Yes!” 

“Ew!” 

“Was he okay?!” 

Brian raised a hand for silence, “Notch brought Herobrine to the edge of death,” he said solemnly as Herobrine tried to walk away, yet only ending up making a slow circle until he sunk to the ground with his hands pressed into his stomach. The figment of Notch approached with slow strides, then hefted the man’s broken body up in his arms like a tired child and carried him to a nearby house, rapping on the door. A woman answered, her tightly wound hair shot with steaks of gray but eyes sparkling with vigor. She took them inside, and the door shut, the scene evaporating into trails of vapor. “He knew that unless he incapacitated Herobrine, he would just rise up and fight back once again, learning nothing. The Creator forced the self-proclaimed god to become vulnerable, to accept the help of that woman to survive. It was intended to be an incredibly humbling experience.” A wry smirk twisted Brian’s lips, “And let me tell you, Herobrine wanted nothing to do with it. Not at first. He would rather have died than ‘stoop to such levels.’ 

“But the woman, a healer, mage, and one of Notch’s old friends, cared for him with a compassion that he had never experienced before, not in living memory. As he healed and strengthened physically, so did the wounds in his mind, as Notch had hoped for. While confined to bed rest and later, her home, Herobrine learned to let go of all that hatred that had eaten away at his soul for so long. Over the years, he even grew to care for her like a son would his mother. 

“But what about the things he did? He killed so many people!” The redhead burst out. 

“And eventually, he grew to hate himself for that. In fact, there was a time when he wanted to take his own life when he realized just how many others he had ended or ruined.” The illusion morphed into a scene of the same figure, standing on the edge of a precipice. A brighter figure stood nearly out of sight behind him, arm extended as though calling out the other figure’s name. “He believed he was a monster, a demon, like he had been told for most of his life. Yet Notch had found him at his lowest and met him there, ensuring that Herobrine would take his second chance.” The scene shifted and showed the two now sitting side by side on that same edge over the ocean of lava. One gestured furiously while the other patiently listened, nodding or shaking his head every once in a while. 

“Over the coming months, they met often, yet in seclusion so not to draw attention to themselves. Somewhere along the way, they had become friends. Though Herobrine didn’t enjoy the spotlight, not with his reputation. He was content to watch others’ lives progress from the wings of the stage and fade into the background instead, which is exactly what he did. And he had all the time in the world, being immortal unless slain, after all. And even then, he would be ‘reborn,’ just without knowledge of his past self. His legend, once infamous, is one that people seldom hear of anymore. I’d be surprised if you ever heard such a story again in your lives.” 

“Whoa! He’s  _ immortal _ ?! So, is he still out there, somewhere?” A girl asked, sounding equally scared and excited. 

“Most definitely,” Brian smirked, catching the eye of an adult on the edges of the crowd, his face hidden in the shadow of a fedora. “Except, unlike the other stories you’ll hear about him if you manage to find some, he isn’t out to get you. Not anymore.” 

“How do you know?” The olive-skinned boy challenged. 

He fixed him with a bemused look. “I’m a storyteller. I’m supposed to know these things.” With a wave of his hand, all the torches lit once again and he stood from his chair, offering a modest bow as everyone in the room gave their applause. 

“That’s quite the story,” one mom remarked in a cautious tone from the back of the room. 

“I did my best.” 

“Excuse me, Brian?” A dark-haired girl asked, raising her hand high in the air. 

His gray gaze focused on her expectantly. “Yes.” 

“Do you know where he is now?” 

He paused. “Yes.” 

“If… if he’s like a, um, good guy now, can we meet him?” 

Brian gave her a small smile. “You won’t recognize him.” 

Her bright eyes widened, “Is he in disguise?” 

“Where is he?” 

“Can I see him?” 

“I don’t wanna meet him, he sounds scary!” 

At that, Brian gave a slight nod. “I’m afraid that, to live the most undisturbed, he is… undercover.” 

“Like a spy!” 

A dad with thinning hair stepped forward, “My children will meet no such person—or demon, I should probably say with the description you gave. People like that never change, I don’t care what you claim.” 

For a moment, Brian’s eyes flared with anger, though only to dull not a second later. “I am sorry you feel that way, and children, people like  _ this  _ are the reason that he lives under the radar. No one except Notch himself even knows what Herorbine looks like.” 

“But you do!” The light-haired boy piped up. 

“Did you see him clearly in my illusions?” Brian countered smoothly. 

“Uh…” 

“Exactly. I would not like to imagine what he looks like, though I assume it is not much different from each of you.” 

“How do you know so much about him, but not what he looks like?” The small, dark-haired boy 

“You’re clever,” Brian complimented, and the kid smiled. “He has ways of changing his appearance, so you’d never know if you’re looking at the real him. That’s all the questions I’m going to answer now, thank you all for coming.” The man waved his hand at his side and his chair vanished as the people all filed out. 

Soon, no one was left but Brian and the man in the fedora. He removed his hat, giving Brian a look. “I stabbed you twice, you know. Once in the abdomen, yes, and another through your left shoulder.” 

“Details. Forgive me if I can’t quite clearly recall such an incident, I was a bit preoccupied at the time.” Herobrine shook his head, teasing a flame around his fingers. His eyes brightened from the dull gray back to their usual brilliant white and the scars on his hands and arms faded away. “Thoughts?” 

“First: Brian, eh? Second: you could have made it less dark, both literally and figuratively. Though practice makes perfect.” 

“And Peaceful makes pansies.” He extinguished the flame, teleporting them both back to his house and turning the redstone lamps on with the flick of a lever. 

“I’m sure that was the moral of your story,” Notch huffed, puffing out his chest as he lit the netherrack fireplace with a wave of his hand. “‘Children, if you ever feel like you are wronged, summon an army of the undead and vent your anger on the nearest villages. Go ahead and sign your name on your victims’ headstones.’” 

Herobrine’s voice took on a black edge and the lights in the room seemed to dim, “I never did that.” 

Notch’s dark eyes twinkled, “Easy, old friend. Simply a jest, though perhaps I took it too far.” 

“Apology accepted.” His voice returned to normal, if slightly forced. “I could have made it far darker. But the children enjoyed it, and the parents weren’t too disturbed. That is good enough for me.” 

“I don’t know about that, there was that one dad who seemed to hate you. You need to stop hiding in the shadows, go out and do the heroic deeds you are so capable of!” 

“It’s not that easy.” 

“It  _ is _ that easy, you’re only making it worse in your head.” Notch frowned at him. “Have a little faith in yourself.” 

Blank eyes turned away, “I cannot. If I were to attempt some ‘heroic deeds,’ I could just as easily become lost in the bloodlust and lose the ability to distinguish friend from foe.” He took a breath, “I am a danger to any in my path, regardless of what side they are on.” 

“Right now, there is no path.” The bald man argued, walking down the white hall with his friend at his side. “All you do is drift from city to city, continent to continent, living in the past and telling that same tale to keep it alive! For what? To reassure some part of you that you will not be forgotten forever? That there will still be some that remember the name ‘Herobrine’? That maybe someone, somewhere, will remember the legend from times past? You may be immortal, but your legacy is not! This is the modern world! Many people no longer believe in your existence, if they have heard of you at all. Castles and their villages are a mere remnant of the past, now, most lie in ruins or have been transformed into historical sites. Is that what you are trying to do to yourself? Because you can’t write yourself down into some story to tell the world.” The god clapped a hand onto his friend’s shoulder, “Let the historians do that.” 

Herobrine’s jaw had set and his face was a blank page. He said nothing, only spun on his heel and shook Notch’s hand off his shoulder, striding off down the hillside.

Notch shook his head slowly, “Oh, brother, what am I to do with you?”

* * *

White glowing eyes hung in the air on the side of a tower, not too high above the street. Notch was right: the world had changed. Drastically. Stone castles had been replaced by gleaming skyscrapers, streets were clogged with traffic, monsters outside the city walls were taken out not by courageous warriors with swords and arrows but by massive redstone contraptions and strategically placed traps. And yet, the gradual changes over the myriad years had barely registered with him. 

After making sure no one was looking, Herobrine leapt off the side of the building and landed with a catlike grace on the concrete below, the forest green cloak he had since put on billowing out around him. 

_ What would it be like, _ he wondered, walking out of the alleyway onto the sidewalk and tugging the hood of his cloak lower to hide his eyes,  _ to watch this city burn? _

Herobrine instantly grabbed his head, scowling at himself and the developing ache in his temples. He couldn’t think like that anymore, those thoughts belonged to his old self. He wouldn’t—no, couldn’t harm or kill any of these people. They did nothing to deserve it, he understood that now. 

_ Yes, they do, _ a part of him argued as he glared at an advertisement in a window for something made partly of ocelot fur, labeled “Creeper-Repellent.”  _ They have forgotten the terror, the fear of what it used to mean to be alive. They waste their lives away, buying things more useless than a diamond hoe, things like Creeper-Repellent that they will never use because they never leave the city walls. _

“But if those walls were to drop...” He muttered, then shook his head at himself. A couple passerby gave him strange looks, which he ignored. 

An arrow of pain shot through his skull.  _ You too are like them. Weak. Soft. Though you may still have your Nether Star, you gave up control of the night. You were a  _ god _! _ The antagonistic part of him grew in volume, each word punctuating a new piercing of pain into his skull.  _ Now look at you, walking among humans. Take back the night! Take back what is rightfully yours! _

_ “ _ —hey, hey! Are you okay?” Herobrine blinked, focusing on the voice near him with difficulty through his growing headache. A young man with auburn hair, a black-and-white sweatshirt, and worried look in his blue eyes took a step back. 

“I am fine.” Herobrine quickly willled his eyes to appear as a normal slate-gray again, not wishing to frighten the man and hoping he hadn’t noticed. 

“You don’t look fine. You just grabbed your head and sunk to the ground.” The man reached out a hand, “Here, let me help you up. Name’s James, but call me Jim. I’m actually training to be an EMT.” 

Herobrine eyed it, then took the man up on his offer. “Brian,” he said gruffly once he was back on his feet. 

“Killer headache?” 

“Something like that,” Herobrine held in a wince and rubbed at his temples. The being turned to leave but suddenly felt a warm grip on his arm. The man—Jim—had grabbed him. He stopped in surprise, shrugging the man’s hand off and fixing him with a flat look. 

“What do you require?” 

“Uh...” Jim had quickly become far more timid, Herobrine noted, “if you don’t mind me asking... what exactly are you? I mean, with those eyes you had a moment ago... are you some kind of mage?” 

The being paused, silently cursing himself. “Something like that.” He repeated. 

“Jim!” A voice shouted out of nowhere, causing the man to jump. 

“Oh, hey Amanda!” He gave the approaching woman a wave, glancing at Herobrine, who only pulled the cloak’s hood down so it almost completely obscured his eyes. “She’s a coworker of mine.”

The woman pushed a dark lock of curly hair out of her face and a bright smile lit up her umber skin. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you. Did you—oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?” She cut herself off, noticing Herobrine for the first time. He had almost slipped away, but now was caught. In the past, he would have kept walking, but he instead turned around, a sudden gust of wind blowing his hood away from his face.

“Not particularly,” said the being, but his gray eyes narrowed.

Amanda blinked in recognition, “Oh, you’re that storyteller from the library! Brian, right?” Herobrine gave a slight nod. Small world. “My daughter loved your story; it was quite the tale. Would it be all right if she met you? I’m on my way to pick her up from daycare—I’ve been told that she’s done nothing but talk about you and this ‘Herobrine’ character all day long. Apparently, she and some other kids were making a game out of it! I heard she has some questions for you, but I wouldn’t want to take up your time...” 

Herobrine stiffened as the woman kept talking, letting her many words flow and eddy around him _. _ It wasn’t really like the being had anything better to do, after all, he had come to the city to brood and wander his old stomping grounds, nothing more. But now, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, he was in a better mood and somewhat appreciated the company, even though he had only just met the pair. It was marginally better than stewing in the darkness. Marginally. 

A low mutter drew him out of his thoughts, “‘Herobrine,’ why do I feel like I’ve heard that name before?” Jim’s brow creased. 

Herobrine blinked at the man’s words but said nothing, it was something he would address later, not when there were so many people around. He nodded at Amanda, “Of course I can meet her.” 

“Oh, that’s very generous of you! Her birthday’s coming up in just a few days, this will be like an early present.” Amanda smiled warmly and started walking down the sidewalk, prompting the two to follow her lead. 

“What is her name?” Herobrine asked, breaking the developing silence as he rubbed the side of his head. Talking with Amanda and Jim was proving to be useful; his headache was less noticeable when he was distracted. 

“Jade. She’ll be nine on Tuesday.” The woman looked at Herobrine, her brow creasing slightly. “Is something wrong?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your head,” she pointed to the side of hers, the tip of her finger brushing up against the mass of squiggly curls. “You’re holding it.” 

Herobrine dropped his hand and the dull ache immediately twisted deeper. “Everything is fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

The being’s keen senses could feel the weight of Jim’s eyes on him, but he tried to put it out of his mind. Not here, not now.

* * *

“Raah! I’m Herobrine! Run mortals!” A little boy hollered, skidding around a table toward his friends, brandishing a worn, toy wooden sword. 

The other children scattered, giggling and squealing while they clutched their own toy swords. “Herobrine” ran after them, clipping a dark-skinned girl in a yellow shirt on the arm with his sword. 

“You’re Him!” the boy shouted, and she jumped away. 

“Aw, dang it!” 

“Jade?” Amanda asked the girl in yellow, “are you having fun?” 

The girl’s dark eyes lit up, “Momma! Yeah, I gotta tag somebody! Watch!” And she took off, raising her sword high and gently whacking a pale younger boy with dark hair on his waist, who couldn’t move out of the way in time. Herobrine recognized the kid as the nervous, somewhat shy one from the library: Kody, he remembered his name to be. The kid that got picked on. He saw now, with the raven-haired child moving, that he had a bit of a limp, but the being smelled and saw nothing that indicated a recent injury. Intriguing. 

“Sorry, Kody,” Jade gave him a small smile, as if knowing that the smaller boy wouldn’t be able to easily catch another kid. 

And the kid knew it too. “Some Herobrine I’d make,” he muttered under his breath. Herobrine was certain that none of the humans had heard it, what with their dull hearing abilities. Nonetheless, he felt compelled to approach the kid, who was conspicuously staring at his shoes. 

“Kody, was it?” 

The kid’s head snapped up, hazel eyes widening. “Storyteller Brian! I—um, I’m sorry we made your story into a game.” He mumbled, looking quite intimidated. Herobrine could see the reflection of his intense gray eyes in the boy’s own, and he softened his gaze. “We can stop if you don’t like it.” 

Herobrine paused. No, he did not like his bloody history being made into some caricature of a game, but the children weren’t quite old enough to understand it well yet. In their minds, it was just a harmless game based off of a story they’d just heard. 

“Storyteller?” 

“Brian will do. Kody, you’re supposed to be Herobrine, correct?” 

“Um, yeah.” The kid scuffed his shoe, tapping the tip his wooden sword against the ground 

He angled his head, “Would Herobrine be standing here, staring at his shoes?” 

The kid scuffed a sneaker, “... No. But I can’t run good—” he cut off, lifting the cuff of his right pant leg and revealing a sturdy iron brace around his shin and ankle. “See?” 

The being frowned. “I would hate to think that Herobrine would let a bad leg stop him. Would you?” 

The kid gazed up at him, his eyes beginning to show some hope. “I—I can try.” 

“Then catch me.” What had possessed him, Herobrine didn’t know. But he skirted around the child, dodging the kid as the latter lunged for him. He used a small burst of inhuman speed to end up on the other side of the room, next to some gaping kids who had paused in their game to watch. 

“How’d you get over there!” Kody exclaimed, dashing towards him. Herobrine dodged the kid again as he grew close and made it look like he tripped over a chair in doing so. He caught himself on his elbows on the floor, knowing the child would be on him like a wolf on a sheep. Sure enough, a small weight landed on his back and the kid’s familiar voice exclaimed “Gotcha! Now you’re Herobrine!” 

Herobrine chuckled at the irony, though he was the only one who could see it. “Not for long,” at that, he teleported behind another boy and tapped him on the shoulder, whispering, “Boo,” in a flurry of violet teleportation particles. The kid yelped and Herobrine could hear his heartbeat race, a sound that brought back many memories... until he gave the man a weak smile and charged off after another child, clinging to his sword. 

“Hey, that’s not fair!” A familiar redheaded girl shouted after seeing what the being had done. 

“Why not?” Herobrine asked, fixing his gaze on her. 

“You can’t just... cheat like that!” She protested, crossing her arms and sticking out her bottom lip. 

“Hardly,” Herobrine gave her a knowing smile, though it was a bit toothy. “I am simply using the abilities I have to gain the upper hand. When you have an advantage over your enemy, always use it.” He looked down to Kody, who, surprisingly, hadn’t run off yet. “Go on, now, play with your peers.”  _ Savor your childhood _ , he mentally added, watching the small boy gimp off. The being wove around back over to the adults plus Jade conversing near the door, who all looked up as he approached. 

“That was really kind of you,” Jim said, “sometimes Kody gets bullied because of his leg.”

“It was nothing. What happened to him, if you pardon my asking?”

Jim glanced down, “He was on a field trip with his class once, outside the city walls, and he got lost around dusk. A local fisherman heard some screaming from the edge of the woods, found the poor kid cornered by a few zombies. He didn’t get there fast enough to keep him from getting injured, but the kid is alive. He’s lucky to be.” 

Herobrine clenched his fist, unconsciously calling the power of his Nether Star, and a handful of zombies in the dense woods outside the city walls suddenly had the grand idea to stroll into a nearby lava pit or off a cliff. In times like these, he was filled with self-loathing at the reminder of what his legions of mobs did to people on a regular basis. He could control them, yes, but influencing all of them and changing their nature to attack and destroy? To kill? They were mindless beasts, incapable of true change unlike himself. 

But they all were monsters. Nothing could change that. Nothing could change what he’d done, the lives he had taken were lost forever... all those souls— 

“Brian? Are you all right?” The man waved a hand in front of his face. 

Herobrine blinked and waved a hand dismissively, stomping the troublesome emotions down along with the remnants of his headache. “I was merely lost in thought. Now, Jade, you wished to talk with me?” 

The young girl’s face positively glowed. “How do you know so much?” She exclaimed. 

One of the man’s eyebrows raised. “You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“About Him! About Herobrine!” 

He couldn’t say he hadn’t anticipated this. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he smiled knowingly, waggling his fingers at her, “and the same is true of myself. I am a mage, after all. If I were to tell, everyone would instantly be clamoring for his attention. Can't have that, now can we?” 

“Why not?” 

“Because, though he may seem godlike to people, he’s not all-powerful. He has his limits. And he would rather have his story spread across the world, kept alive by legend, than stand in the spotlight once again. And he could not, never again. Not with his reputation, the blood on his hands.” The being’s voice grew bitter towards the end, almost beginning to shake, and he had to pause. Just for a moment. “You see, he entrusted me to share his story with the world, keep his legend alive. But he wanted the truth out there: Yes, he exists. No, he is not some demon or boogeyman who would jump out at you from a dark alley. At least, not anymore.”

“That name,” Jim said distantly, “My grandmother told me the tale of Herobrine when I was young. I was afraid to go outside for two weeks afterwards, that is, until she turned and convinced me he doesn’t exist. Now you show up out of the blue and start telling kids this horror story with a happier spin on the end of it, except you claim it really happened. But if no one knows what he looks like—” 

“He exists. He is just as real as you are, don’t doubt that. But he would rather fade once again into myth than be forced into the public eye. He would become a servant to this world and its inhabitants, eventually worshipped as a god or treated like a slave. And he wants no part in either.” The being growled, restraining his temper. “Everyone would be wanting magical solutions to their problems, many of which he would not be able to deliver.” 

“I don’t know about that, the modern world has better standards, and slavery is outlawed.” 

“Tell me,” Herobrine began softly, “if you had a being with the power of a god at your disposal, would you really be thinking about  _ rights _ ? This has happened before, and he will not allow it to happen again. With his reputation, there would always be people against him. He would always be looking over his shoulder, waiting for the betrayer, the knife in the night. It’s human nature. He would never even be fully accepted into society should he try to join it: either becoming a ‘deity’ to be worshipped or a demon to be outcast. And I will  _ not _ —” Herobrine stopped as the dull ache in his head spiked. He blinked, taking in his surroundings. He hadn’t noticed that his cloak now whipped about his shoulders, darkness gathering around him. Hot white runes of the ancient enchanting language swirled in the air, ready to brand anyone they touched like painful, magical snowflakes. The children huddled in a corner as far away as they could get, clutching their toy swords for dear life. The room’s temperature had dropped a few degrees and Jade was clinging to her mother’s leg, trembling. Jim and Amanda had both taken a step or two back and looked somewhat fearful. 

The being exhaled softly, almost too quiet to be heard, and let warmth spill back into the room. Some papers settled to the floor as the wind around him died down. “Forgive me. Sometimes my emotions weaken my control over my magic.” The gray-eyed man pulled his hood over his head and strode out, looking down at the floor, “Goodnight.”

* * *

The stone brick wall was now a cracked stone brick wall. Herobrine removed his fist and slung a fireball at a nearby spider; the hairy mob shrieked and burst into flame. The being’s eyes almost steamed, two cruel beams of white cutting through the darkness, lit only by stars and the faint city lights in the distance. Warm blood slowly fell from his knuckles, illuminated by the glow of his healing like droplets of fire, already clotting. 

“I could easily have injured those children! And for what? A simple question I couldn’t answer?!” 

“Breathe, old friend.” A very familiar, gentle-yet-husky voice advised from behind him, down the slope. 

Herobrine sank down onto the remnants of a stone pillar, on the edge of the ruins of a once-great tower that had been part of a castle on this very hill, lost to history. He paid the stinging of his knuckles no mind and remembered how that one blond boy and his dog always played on the banks of the pond, the one that used to sit close to the path by the stairs. The freckle-faced girl in that white (yet somewhat dirtied) frock, her pale hair always tied up neatly and a basket of freshly baked bread in her hand, ready to be sold down in the marketplace next to the river. All of it gone. 

A zombie made the mistake of ambling too close to the seething being and his arm shot out, digging into the mob’s putrid flesh before he kicked it away and sent its body in one direction, its head in another. 

“Is it my fate to be a terror to all who enter my presence?” He breathed heavily through his nose, “I met two humans today, Notch. We held a conversation, more than one, in fact. Yet I nearly lost control thanks to the questioning of a child, and now look where I am!” 

“Yes. You’re sulking in the ruins of a castle, alone if not for me, giving in to self-hatred. You are only a monster if you choose to be one, Brine.” The man said in a neutral tone. 

“What wise words from the almighty Creator,” the white-eyed being spat. 

Notch gave him a sideways look. “I wasn’t finished. Go back into that city first thing tomorrow morn, stop living this lie. You are hiding from yourself, and hiding from the fact that you, like all others, need true friends. You’re trying to trap your past in a story, craft it into something that doesn’t seem like it could be real. Would you rather keep your past self alive, or work at making a new life for yourself?” 

“I could die,” Herobrine chuckled lowly, “I’d respawn and easily be able to begin life anew. A blank slate. That would easily grant me a new life.” 

Notch shook his head, taking a seat beside the being. “Even though, for us, death is technically impermanent, it might as well not be. Losing everything you used to be, your memories, personality, skills, it’s simply not worth it. We’ve had this conversation before, and I had hoped that we would never be having it again. Erasing who you used to be, if only in your own mind, will do you no good. You know that, my friend.” The god squeezed his arm. 

The man let out a long sigh, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze, painted silver in the moonlight as he stretched out on the ancient brickwork, crossing his arms behind his head. “I am ancient, Notch. Not as much as you, though we are different, you and I. Is it not overdue to wipe the slate clean, make a fresh start?” 

“Not to me.” The bald man said in a hushed tone, revering the quiet of the night. “Look at what you and I have become. Look at what we’ve created together. This world is thriving, and you are a part of it, no matter how much you wish not to be.” He leaned back on his arms, looking off at the tree line and a lone enderman standing on a hill. “We once were sworn enemies, you know. Now, Herobrine, I see you as my brother. And neither I nor the world could stand to lose what you have become, even though you’ll still be here. You would not be the same person.” 

“As I am aware. I will give your words some consideration.” He frowned slightly, seeming to make up his mind about something. “Until the morn, I will rest...  _ brother _ ” he trailed off, safe in the knowledge that Notch could hear the faintly whispered word. His eyes slipped closed and he breathed deeply, allowing sleep to slowly consume him. He hadn’t truly rested in years, having no practical need for it, and had forgotten how... peaceful it was. How comforting, even though sleep was slow to take him. His last conscious thought was that perhaps he should do this more often. 

A large hand ran itself through the resting man’s hair, not without a little bit of envy from its bald owner. Herobrine seldom slept, but in the rare times the being did, Notch savored it. For years, he had grown to view this conflicted man like a younger brother, one often in need of guidance and a supportive friend. Seeing his brother so at peace in his rest was soothing. 

Something flashed in the corner of his view and Notch immediately stood, sensing a disturbance on the air. Yes, there it was, he wasn’t imagining things. The tip of a boot, the flash of a tool—or worse, a weapon. The shadowed figure it belonged to stood almost completely hidden by a large oak, deep within its shadow. 

“I would advise you to show yourself,” Notch said lowly, not needing to raise his voice. 

A man stepped out from behind the trunk, wearing a black-and-white sweatshirt and holding out a polished iron sword that looked like it had never met a mob. “I-I don’t mean any harm, I swear! I just followed you two here out of curiosity!” His voice wavered with fear and he threw his sword aside as if emphasizing his point, it vanished into a clump high grass. “I-I’ll go now if that’s what you want.”

“No, come here.” Tentatively, the man did so, coming into better view. His auburn hair and pale skin were washed out to dull grays and tans in the waxing moonlight. “Do you know me or this man, Jim?” he asked, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t disturb Herobrine, stretched out on the ground at his feet. 

“How do you know my name?” The man exclaimed, and the god glared at him to be quiet. The man’s eyes widened and his mouth fell shut almost instantly, but not before a quiet apology escaped his lips. 

“Answer my question first,” Notch ordered, though judging by the man’s reply, he wasn’t aware of the god’s identity. 

“Um... I’ve never met you before, but he’s Brian—or, um, Herobrine, right? I heard that much.” 

“Yes.” Since the man knew that much, there was hardly a point to keeping his own identity secret. “I am Notch.” 

“Holy... what the Nether! No. No! For real?” The man sat down on a chunk of stone in shock. “I shouldn’t even be in your presence...” 

“You wouldn’t be had you not followed us here,” Notch chuffed. The man paled at that. “Easy, don’t worry about it. I would offer you a seat, but you’ve already taken it. Best get comfortable.” He offered a smile, pleasant demeanor returning. With a wave of his hand, a chunk of netherrack was suddenly before them and set ablaze. Herobrine muttered something indistinguishable and rolled onto his side, balling his hands up in the green folds of his cloak. “Now, why did you come?” 

The man adjusted himself in his seat a bit nervously, “I... was curious, I suppose? I met Brian earlier today, and he seemed to be hiding something. I wanted to find out what it was.” 

“So you followed him.” 

Jim immediately winced at how bad that sounded. “Not in a creepy way, just... well, yeah. I did. I wanted to know what was really going on.” His eyes fell to the slumbering form not four feet away. “I didn’t know he slept.” But seeing Notch’s raised eyebrow, he quickly added, “I mean, it doesn’t seem like something he’d need.” 

“And you’re right. But resting is beneficial, regardless of need.” 

“Wow,” the man let out a low breath and raked his fingers through his hair, “I still can’t believe I’m talking to you.” 

Notch’s eyes sparkled, “Do you want me to pinch you?” 

He began to reach out and the man leaned away, “No, no, I’m good.” Notch let his arm fall and he stared up at the stars, letting the cool night air glide over him. “I don’t think I should be here when he wakes up.” 

“Why is that?” 

The man rubbed one of the ties of his sweatshirt between his forefinger and thumb. “From what I overheard, it sounds like he should come to us on his own terms, rather having us reach out to him when he’s not ready.” 

“Wise words, considering you’ve barely made his acquaintance.” Notch praised. Jim swore his face was as reed as a beet—the Creator himself said he was wise! 

“It just...” the human searched for the right way to put his thoughts to words, “seemed like he’s had a really hard life. I don’t want to push him and make it harder.” 

“You are a kind young man, and I hope this behavior of yours continues when you interact with Hero again in the morning.”

Jim raised a brow. “You’re not sending him home with me, are you?” 

Notch shook his head, “As you put it, he will go when he is ready. But I’ve known him quite a long time, and have a feeling that time is tomorrow morning. If I were you, I’d get my rest.” 

Dropping the tie, the human stood. “Yeah, I should really get going.” 

“Allow me to help you,” Notch stood as well and grabbed his arm, and suddenly the two were standing right outside the city gates. “No point in wading through monsters. I know you can find your way home from here.” 

“We... just teleported...” 

“Goodnight, Jim. You never met me.” 

* * *

Jim yawned and fumbled for his cell phone, trying desperately through the fog of sleepiness to shut off that horrible noise which had so rudely awakened him— 

“Jim? Hello?” 

Oh, he must have hit the answer button by accident. It took a moment for the voice to register. 

“Hey, Amanda. Is something up?” 

“Don’t you remember, silly? I told you last week that I’d be stopping by with some baked goods.” 

His eyes flew open. “That was today!?” 

“Yeah,” she said dryly, “I’m outside your front door. Are you still in bed?” 

“I’ll be there in a tick!” He gasped, flinging himself out of bed and diving into a pile of laundry in search of a clean pair clothes. He spared a moment to wonder what kind of baked goods she had brought, stomach rumbling. 

“Don’t leave me hangi—oh, hey!” 

“What?” 

“Oh, I wasn’t talking to you. I just saw that man from yesterday,” she said in all one breath. “Hey! Brian!” 

“There she goes,” Jim muttered, tugging a sock onto his left foot. If he strained his ears, he thought he could make out the beginnings of a conversation. He quickly raked his fingers through his hair after tugging on a red t-shirt with a creeper face on the front pocket, shooting himself a glance in the mirror to make sure he at least looked tolerable. 

Yeah. Good enough. 

He swung into the hall and ran to the door, throwing it open. “Hi,” he breathed sheepishly, greeted with a look from Amanda that would’ve been completely deadpan if not for a small warm smile tugging at the corners of her lips like a needy child. 

“Look who I just ran into,” she stepped to the side, allowing a certain storyteller to show his face. Slate gray eyes stared up at Jim. For a moment, no one said anything. 

“I would like to apologize,” Brian said softly, “for my behavior yesterday. It was inappropriate.” 

Jim scratched at the back of his head, remembering the man’s cloak whipping around him, his seemingly malevolent expression, the way his voice echoed as if two of him were speaking at once. All the raw power barely kept at bay, like a hurricane battering breakwaters. 

The man so full of power bit his lip, traced the cracks in the cobblestone steps with his eyes as he waited for the other’s reply. “If you do not wish to be in my presence any longer, I... understand.” 

“What?” Jim hadn’t expected that. “You didn’t do anything other than scare us a little, that was all. Here, come inside, both of you.” 

Amanda set the box she had been carrying onto the granite kitchen counter, Jim hungrily eyeing it. Brian stood stiffly near the couch, not knowing what to make of being invited into someone’s home. He wrapped his hands in the forest green folds of the cloak that he couldn’t seem to part with and cleared his throat awkwardly. “That’s it?” 

Jim glanced over at him, “Do you expect me to be holding a grudge or something?” 

Brian didn’t answer. He watched with growing amusement at Jim’s immediate—though halfhearted—indignation when the man lifted the box’s lid and let it drop. 

“Papers from work are  _ not _ baked goods!” 

Amanda giggled, a pleasant, airy sound. “Copies of our newest fliers, fresh off the press! Eat up!” 

Brian’s hand rested on the doorknob. It would be so easy to leave, to never return and let the mortals live their lives. But something stopped his hand from twisting the door open, instead, turning himself away from the exit and plodding back into the room. 

“Hey, there you are. We thought you’d walked out!” Amanda gave him a warm smile. 

“Sorry for ignoring you,” Jim said, looking sheepish. 

Brian waved his hand dismissively. 

“I guess you wouldn’t like a flier...” Amanda trailed off, trying to end the awkward silence, until she glanced at the fliers, which had been replaced by warm rolls loaded with nuts, berries, and cinnamon. 

The being raised an eyebrow a little too innocently. “What fliers?” 

“Okay,” Jim said, grinning, “that’s really cool.” 

Soon enough, all three were lounging in chairs or on the couch, munching on the hearty bread. 

“Mmmm, this is good. You could give Selma and her bakery down the street a run for her emeralds.” Jim praised. “How did you do that?” 

Brian’s stomach clenched as he stared down at the roll in his hands he’d been nibbling at, feeling their gazes on him. He shouldn’t tell them. 

He wouldn’t tell them. 

He can’t— 

Forget it. 

He took a deep breath, “I suppose I have some explaining to do.” Jim raised an eyebrow, Amanda looked at Brian expectantly. His eyes seemed to glaze over as if he were rapidly developing severe cataracts and Amanda’s hand flew to her mouth. In the span of a few seconds, the man’s irises and pupils vanished entirely, his eyes becoming a pure glowing white. “I haven’t made a formal introduction. My name is Herobrine.” 

To his utter surprise, their expressions softened and Jim said, “We know.” 

Herobrine blinked. He hadn’t expected that reaction. “You’re... not afraid?” 

“Nope.” Amanda smiled, adjusting the tie in her hair. 

“You guys want to go out for coffee? My treat.” Jim offered, stifling a yawn with his fist. “I have a feeling that you’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Herobrine, and I want to be awake to hear it.” 

“Sure!” She smiled. 

The living myth shrugged, a small smile of his own creeping its way onto his face. “Why not.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed whatever this was! Thanks for reading, I love to hear your thoughts :)


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